


Cold Manchester Nights

by Shamandalie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamandalie/pseuds/Shamandalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Won't hear a sound from my mouth<br/>I've spent too long on the inside out<br/>My skin is cold to the human touch<br/>This bleeding heart's not beating much<br/>I murmured a vow of silence and now<br/>I don't even hear when I think aloud"</p><p>Or: The thing is, he only recently realised that he left behind not only one love of his life, but two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Manchester Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Холодные ночи Манчестера](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317072) by [Jay_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_999/pseuds/Jay_999)



Most of the kids have this period in their lives when all they want to do is wander. Life doesn't seem good, doesn't seem enough – they want something more, they want this illusional freedom that doesn't really exsist (Frank thinks Camus shouldn't be read at school. Orwell would be much better.)

This wanderlust marked whole generations – and even though it isn't commonly acknowledged now (like when it was in Kerouac times – Frank reads too much, he knows that), it still exists in the back of young minds. Escaping from rules and responsibilities is always an appealing idea.

But Frank...Frank never was one of these kids. He didn't dream about escaping, about not being tied up, about being his own master and commander. He just wanted to play football (and party and have sex, but he finally grew tired of it, after the scandals. He never was a party guy anyway, he was just showing off.).

Back to the thought, he never was sick from wanderlust, so now, he's not able to understand why after all these years he suddenly felt this need, to run, to wander, to be alone with his thoughts, not tied up by anything.

Nights are chilly in Manchester, and even though he always thought that this city was at least enjoyable, he hates it now.

“Nothing's better than good, old London, huh?”, whispering to himself is like a habit for him now. He thinks that he probably could even shout, and no one would hear him, but he also thinks that he's not mad enough (yet) to scream in the middle of the park (and in the middle of the night, also.)

God, he must look insane. He would be embarrassed if someone saw him there. But no one will, probably. Normal people sleep at 2 am.

He doesn't know what brought him there. What brings him there every night. He just leaves his flat, behaving as silent as he can, trying not to wake up Christine (he moves silently even when she isn't there; he's not sure if it's because of the habit, of respect for the night, or just simply because even he doesn't want to admit what he's doing – sneaking out of his own flat just to sit curled up on the bench (oh, the irony, he signed a contract with NYCFC to avoid that) in some ugly park in fucking Manchester.)

He wants to call John, but shakes off the thought.

“Yeah, call him. At 2am. Say 'I just wanted to hear your voice'. Brilliant, Lampard.”

John would worry sick after something like that. He would probably even try to visit him in Manchester or something. (So maybe it isn't such a bad idea.)

Frank thinks that he should stop lying to himself, because he knows. Maybe he didn't at first, but now he knows, and has known for a while, what brings him there. The reason why he can't sleep at night, why he sneaks out, why he wants to wander around the city till his legs hurt, is that he misses John too much. He misses him so much it's almost pathetic. He misses him more than he ever thought he will.

***

  
 _John makes an awful tea, but Frank still drinks it. He's used to it and it really can't be this bad, because John sips it with a wide smile. Maybe Frank's taste is just too sublime._

_“So Ash told me that she really wasn't a virgin”, John continued with his story to which Frank didn't really pay attention, “Because her vagina was too loose when he entered her, y'know? And-”_

_Frank furrowed his eyebrows._

_“You know it's a myth, right? Vaginas are flexible, they don't loosen up after girl loses her virginity.”_

_“Really?”, John looked surprised and Frank wanted to sigh. “Didn't know that. Weird instruments, vaginas are.”_

_John took another sip of his tea._

_“That's why I prefer dick.”_

_Frank laughed a bit too much at this, and made a mental note to himself to borrow John book about sexuality he recently read. He wouldn't read it, probably, but it was worth a try._

 

He used to love this insignificant conversations about anything with John. They felt domestic, then. He hates them now, because he needs bigger words. He needs 'I miss you's', he needs 'Wish you were here's' and he certainly doesn't need...

 

_“Diego Costa is a funny guy, I'm tellin ya. From what I heard from people with ability to understand spanish, that is. He looks like an alien when I'm trying to talk with him. Oscar took your number, by the way. But only to give back eleven to Didi, so I guess it's allright?”_

_It fucking isn't, but Frank doesn't say that. Nothing is fucking allright._

 

Now, sitting on this cold bench he claimed as his all those weeks ago, he regrets that he didn't say that. That he didn't say anything. That John thinks it's “allright”.

He knows it isn't John's fault. Knows John would do anything to stop him from leaving. Knows that he actually did everything he could.

He also knows he's being childish and that he should move on.

The thing is, he only recently realised that he left behind not only one love of his life, but two of them.

It hurts, to open one's eyes after it's too late.

Wrapping his arms around his body doesn't really keep him from falling into small pieces.

 

***

The happiest day of our lives are characterized by our lack of thoughts and words, and by the way our senses sharpen, intesifying our experiences.

Frank doesn't remember many words that had been said during the happiest day of his life in Munich.

But he remembers the smell of the grass, taste of the cold silver under his lips when he was kissing the cup, sound of fans cheering and of course he remembers how...

 

_John falled on top of Frank, leaving the older man breatheless._

_“John, would you please get off me?”_

_“I never want to get off you, Lampsy”, John answered in between heavy breaths._

_“John, seriously, you're fucking heavy, man”_

_John sighed and rolled off him. Frank didn't get too much of a freedom, though, because John immediately wrapped his arms around him. Frank wanted to say something about how tightly his lover was holding him, but then his captain giggled. Yes, giggled. John never failed to surprise Frank._

_“What are you laughing about?”_

_“You smell happy.”_

_“John, one can't smell_ happy”

_“But you do. You smell of sweat and happiness. Do you think it's some endorphine thing?”_

_“God, you're so sappy.”_

 

...John smelled, tasted and what noises he made.

He also remembers how John told him he loved him and how he didn't return it.

Now he just can't understand why he never returned it.

He'd told himself that I'd complicate things. That it wasn't necessary because John already knew. Those were only excuses, he knows that; the only real reason why he didn't return it was that he was afraid. Scared as hell.

He was stupid. So, so stupid. I love you, it's all he had to say. Three stupid, easy words that probably could change a thing or two.

Maybe John would treat him differently now, if he knew that he is Frank's love, not just a lover.

He feels so cold, but is unable to move. Recently he observed that this unslept nights are affecting the way he trains. He feels more tired, more worked up. Maybe it's an age thing.

He can't wait to finally move to New York. Maybe it'll get better, there.

 

***

_They were drinking tea (Frank insisted on doing it himself and John agreed, thank God) and watching their kids playing in John's backyard._

_Luna was chasing Georgie around the pool because he took something from her (Frank wasn't sure what was it, she was talking too fast and in too high pitched, scandalized voice for him to understand when he asked her)._

_“Do you think we should intervene?”, asked Frank._

_“Nah”_  
 _Frank took his eyes off the children and turned to face John. Younger man was looking at him fondly, eyes almost sparkling. The sight took Frank's breath away for few long seconds._

_“John, you're staring.”_

_“I know.”_

_John placed his hand under Frank's chin, dragging him closer. They kissed. Frank was perfectly happy in that moment._

 

As depressive as it sounds, the grass was greener then. John's jokes were funnier, his voice happier and Frank wasn't so damn tired.

Isla and Luna weren't such a headache and Christine wasn't so annoying.

Frank doesn't think he can take it (everything) anymore.

 

***

_“Lampsy, I forgot to ask you for your shirt.”_

_He was trying to stop his tears from falling for ages now, and John wasn't helping._

_“Yeah, yeah, here -”_

 

Insomnia came just after he scored against Chelsea, he realises at the end of October. He wasn't like that before this match.

But it isn't guilt that takes sleep away from him (he's too professional to feel guilty about scoring for his employer). It/s a realisation how badly he is missed. How much he is loved. And...

 

_John hugged him tightly, slowly massaging his back._

_“Don't cry, Frankie. It's fine. We only lost two points, yeah?”_

_Frank nodded. It wasn't about that, but. What he could say without being melodramatic?_

_“They're still madly in love with you.”_

_Frank nodded again._

_“I'm still madly in love with you.”_

 

...how greatly he fucked up.

Why he was to stubborn, so scared of his own feelings, so stupid. Why can't he turn back time and change everything.

 

***

Frank's chin is resting on his knees and he is shaking. November nights are almost unbearably cold, but sitting there became a habit Frank can't get rid of.

“Here you are.”, he almost jumps at the sound, turning his head to its source so quickly that he starts feeling dizzy.

Dizziness deepens when he sees who's standing in front of him.

“Christine told me you'll be here.”

Frank looks at John and, well. Of course. He starts to cry. Really hard.

John's eyes widen and he rushes to the older man. He sits next to him and wraps his arms around his shaking body.

“Hey, what's wrong, darling?”

Frank almost crashes into John. He buries his face in his neck, making it wet with tears. John slowly strokes his hair.

“Frankie. Frank. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I'm...I'm sorry.”, Frank's voice cracks.

“Sorry about what, Lampsy?”

Frank just shakes his head and John sighs.

“You can tell me everything, you know? Christine is worried sick. She told me you were spending here most of the nights.”

John smells so nice and Frank doesn't want to hear anything about Christine, so he kisses his neck. It's sloppy and really wet, and really far from hot, but John shudders anyway. Frank unzips John's jacket and snuggles closer to John's body, floating in younger man's warmth. He kisses his neck again, a bit more passionate this time, but he still feels very, very sad.

John traces some irregular circles on his back, not really knowing what's going on, but enjoying it.

“I missed you.”, Frank mumbles into John's skin.

“I missed you too, Frankie.”

Frank feels tears swelling in his eyes again and he would probably hate himself for that in different circumstances, but John's arms around him feel so safe, and only thing Frank can smell is John's soap on his skin, and these stupid tears don't bother him in that moment.

He feels that now they can easily fall into their old routine, of being all loved up and close without saying big words (at least from Frank's side), but now he knows he can't let it happen. He needs to change things, because if he doesn't, who knows how this is going to end? He needs John in his life, more than he ever wanted to admit.

John kisses Frank's hair and it's obvious he doesn't expect him to say anything. It hurts to see it, this silent acceptance of Frank's unability to express his feelings, to save things from falling apart.

Frank needs to be brave, braver than he has ever been in his whole life.

“I'm sorry about everything.”, he says quietly and slowly raises his head to look at John.

Younger man is frowning, understandably so.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Frank.”

Frank shakes his head and smiles weakly, corners of his mouth not really lifting.

“Yes, I do. You know, I had loads of time to think since I left London. And I came to some really unpleasant conclusions”, Frank takes a deep breath, “First of them is that for all these years I've been a coward.”

John looks confused and starts to open his mouth to say something.

“John. Please. Let me talk. I've been a coward and I probably still am one.”

“Frank, you are the bravest person I've ever known.”

Frank looks at John with fondness. He's such a great person; always wants Frank to feel better about himself, even when it means he has to tell him some clichés straight out of romantic comedies.

“No, I am not. There are things you should know. Things I should've told you ages ago.”

John frowns.

“Don't tell me you...that you..”, John looks scared, “God, Frank, you should've told me by the phone, I -”

John pulls back, trying to distance himself from Frank. He crosses his arms on his chest and looks so, so vulnerable.

“What? No, no, no, John, oh fuck, this is not what I meant! Why would you think that -”

John looks like he's about to cry and Frank really hates himself for putting simple words into complicated sentences.

“You've been so distant lately”, choked words escape John's mouth and they hurt, hurt so much, “Like you didn't want to have anything to do with me. I thought...I know I always loved you more but...I really thought you won't shut me out, y'know, after you leave and -”

“God, John -” younger man angrily whipes tears from his face and Frank catches his hands by the wrists. He leans down and kisses John's knuckles, “I'm not shuting you out. I'm just trying to confess how much I love you.”

John's eyes widen in shock and his lips part and Frank hates it. He wonders if John even remembers the last time he said that. Probably not, since Frank himself can't recall it. There were times during sex, while he was reaching his climax, or when he was shouting into John's ear after scoring a goal, but this way? Collected, not heated confession? He probably never said that this way.

“I was a coward because I never wanted to admit it. I love you and I always have. I didn't...”, Frank swallows hard, trying not to look into John's sparkling eyes, “I didn't want to tell you because I thought it'll complicate things. That you will expect more from me than I could give. That we wouldn't be able to keep our sharade.”

Frank stops for a while, combing his hair with his fingers.

“No, it's stupid. Those are the things I was saying to myself. Excuses I was coming with. The truth is that I've always been afraid of my feelings towards you -”

He sighs.

“They are so strong, you know? I love you so much, you're the best person I've ever met and...and I couldn't handle it, because, loves like this doesn't really happen? In real life, I mean”

John smiles. It's like sun'd come out in the middle of the night.

“But they do. What I feel is real and I don't want to lose you.”

“You won't.”, it's the first thing John says. He interwines their fingers together, looking so damn happy. Frank knows he doesn't deserve all these smiles, but.

“John, I was so shitty for you. I took you for granted and then I was surprised when you didn't miss me as much as I thought you will -”

“I missed you like crazy, Frankie. It felt so weird, still does, not having you all the time beside me. Why would you think I didn't miss you?”

Frank shakes his head.

“I don't know. I think...Maybe I was just selfish. My feelings overwhelmed me and I thought no one feels so deeply as I am. God, John, I make so many mistakes. All the time. I wish I wouldn't.”

“Mistakes are human, Frank. And yours aren't that big, honey.”

“They are big enough.”

John hugs Frank tightly. Frank inhales deeply – John's smell makes him stronger, somehow. It's familiar, it's so _John._

“I just want you to forgive me.”, Frank whispers.

“I've already told you – you have nothing to be sorry about.”

“John...”

“Hey, listen. Of course there were times when I wanted you to say everything you just said. But I always knew you loved me, Lampsy. You showed me it in so many different ways. It was better than words.”

“Like when?”

“Well, for example, you always drink my awful tea and don't say how awful it really is.”, Frank snorts with amusement, “Hey, I'm being serious here. Tea is a big deal here in Britain, so if this isn't love, then what is?”

Frank laughs happily and kisses John on the jaw.

“You're absolutely right, JT. It's a sign of unconditional love.”

John joins their lips together.

“So what's about this whole night wandering, by the way?”

Frank blushes. He hoped John won't ask.

“Fresh air helps me think.”

John raises his eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“Shut up, Terry.”

“I didn't say anything.”

Frank punches him in the arm, still slightly embarrassed. John grins stupidly.

“Well, maybe fresh air helps you think...But in my case, it just freezes my ass off. Come on, we're going home.”

But I'm already home, because home is where you are, Frank wants to say. And he does, because he's done with not saying things to John.

John almost dies of laughter after this confession, but Frank can live with that.

“Oh my god, I'll never forget you that. I'll be dying and I'll waste my last dying breath at laughing at you because of it. Where did it come from? Miley's last song?”

 

***

He sleeps well that night and hopes that insomnia faded away for good. John wakes him with a kiss, and Frank doesn't even complain about his morning breath, because now he's sure John will wait for him when he moves to New York.

John says that not waiting was never the case, anyway.

Frank's chest doesn't feel so tight anymore and he can breathe properly. He doesn't choke on words.

**Author's Note:**

> Summary quote is from Pink Floyd's "Wearing The Inside Out". This song wasn't an inspiration for this fic, but lyrics fit, so I highly recommend it to you. I highly recommend whole Pink Floyd, lol.
> 
> This is unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine etc, and please let me know if you found any big ones.
> 
> Do you realise how many times Frank Lampard made me cry? At least hundred. So I took a revenge on him and this time I made him cry, not the other way! *evil laughter* Sorry btw.
> 
> Leave kudos, comments, just love me pls


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